


This Is Me Trying

by WorkingChemistry



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AU where Connor gets hit by the train but Hank drags him to CyberLife to get fixed, Connor doesn’t think he’s alive but Hank certainly does, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, I reject canon so don’t expect a faithful interpretation lol, i adore this game but it only gave me a taste of the philosophical quandaries that I crave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorkingChemistry/pseuds/WorkingChemistry
Summary: RK800 had almost destroyed this chassis. It would be more cost effective to replace it. He had tried to explain this to Lieutenant Anderson, but the man had refused to listen. Instead he shushed RK800 and told him to focus on staying awake.It had seemed prudent to obey at the time.Now, as RK800 is being carried through the doors he feels useless. This is the third mission he’s failed. Perhaps they won’t bother with a new chassis for his memories and will instead choose to replace his AI with an updated set of programming. The thought is… unpleasant, but RK800 understands the necessity.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	This Is Me Trying

**Author's Note:**

> *throws this into the abyss and runs* 
> 
> I’m still on a hiatus, but I was replaying the game and idk. I had to fill the cravings somehow. Yes, Dr Calvaire is non-binary and yes they’re more of a morally gray focused on the science person. I want more chaotic nb scientist rep.

RK800 had almost destroyed this chassis. It would be more cost effective to replace it. He had tried to explain this to Lieutenant Anderson, but the man had refused to listen. Instead he shushed RK800 and told him to focus on staying awake.

It had seemed prudent to obey at the time.

Now, as RK800 is being carried through the doors he feels useless. This is the third mission he’s failed. Perhaps they won’t bother with a new chassis for his memories and will instead choose to replace his AI with an updated set of programming. The thought is… unpleasant, but RK800 understands the necessity.

“Lieutenant Anderson, RK800. You are not expected.” The receptionist smiles blandly as her LED spins yellow. “I’ve alerted the research team to your presence. You may enter the elevator to your right.”

The lieutenant shuffles over to the elevator faster than RK800 would have found probable. As the elevator moves with a hum, he finally looks down at RK800. “Are you holdin’ on alright?”

“I am functioning, Lieutenant. As I said before, it is unnecessary for you to carry me.” RK800 knows it’s LED is spinning yellow-red. It has paused its integration simulations in order to conserve energy and… regrets the distress it places upon its partner. After a short calculation, it continues, “If you desire to retain this chassis over a new one it would be prudent to allow me to stand. CyberLife is unlikely to invest repairs in a… body… that is unable to complete all motor functions.”

“Your leg is fuckin’ broken, Connor.” Hank doesn’t release RK800. Instead he tightens his grip.

Con—RK800 allows a small incline of his head. Patches of its synthetic skin have been ripped away. One particularly large strip—not quite torn yet—dangles from his cheek. “I understand that Lieutenant. However, CyberLife will not invest in a defective model.”

That gets him a sharp glance from the human. RK800 would categorize it as anger, but Hank sets him down gently. His words, while gruff, also lack their usual bite. “If it hurts, I’m picking you back up.”

“Androids do not feel pain.” RK800 reassures. One hand tries to straighten a tie that has gone missing out of habit, but the elbow joint catches on the sharp edge of shattered framework and grinds to a halt.

The elevator opens to the research floor. RK800 is very familiar with the corridors and leads the way. It’s gait can only be described as a shuffle. Sparks spray from the exposed wiring of its shattered ankle down to the white ceramic tile.

Dr. Emil Calvaire, born 4/16/2003, lead engineer on the RK800 line meets them before RK800 and it’s partner can reach the lab. They appear annoyed, but tsk fondly at RK800. “I see you still like to keep me in business, Connor.”

“Apologies, Dr. Calvaire.” RK800 attempts a smile at them but one half of its face refuses to respond. “Your workmanship is superb, but it was no match for the trains.”

“A train. Well, well. I want to hear all about it.” Their smile turns real as they step closer to examine the damage. They touch the skin barely hanging onto its face before tearing it the rest of the way off. “Hmm. I’ll need my tools to fix this.”

“He can be fixed, right?” Lieutenant Anderson cuts in urgently. Curious, as he’s been quite adamant in his disinterest for solving the case with RK800’s help. “Tin Can said you might scrap him.”

“Well,” Dr. Calvaire sticks their hands in the pockets of their white lab coat, “I’ll be honest, it would be much simpler to transfer the data over to a new body.”

Hank grimaces. “Can he be fixed?”

Dr. Calvaire shrugs and glances back to RK800. Whatever they see seems pleasing as they blow a few stray locks of brown hair out of their face and give a firm nod. “Lucky I love a challenge. I know the transfer can be unpleasant for those unused to working with androids. RK800.”

Their sharp tone draws RK800 to attention.

“Strip and follow me to the lab. I want a report of your diagnostics.”

“Yes, Dr. Calvaire.” RK800 does as it’s bid, shedding layers of clothing as it walks. The tatters fall with dull thumps. A house keeping android will collect them later.

Hank swears and starts ripping off his own jacket and tries to drape it across RK800’s shoulders. “Knock it off. We’re not in the lab yet. Ain’t no one wanna see your robot dick.”

“To the contrary, Lieutenant.” RK800 corrects absently and closes the suggestion to point out the jacket on his shoulders will do nothing to cover his genitals. Most of its attention is on gathering up a summary of the reports anyway. “I was designed to be aesthetically pleasing in all forms should the need for seduction arise.”

“Right.” Lieutenant Anderson’s voice is flat. “Well I don’t want to see it, so cover up.”

“Very well, Lieutenant.” RK800 finds it likes the idea of covering up even just its torso. The notion is irrational, but walking naked down the hall leaves it feeling vulnerable. Hopefully this is a programming error that Dr. Calvaire can repair easily. RK800 has already created enough unnecessary work and cost to the company that owns it.

Clank, crunch, clank, crunch.

It’s awkward limp rings out until they reach the lab and RK800 can step into the machinery. Dr. Calvaire is quick to connect it to a variety of wires and tubes. Then they start disconnecting its limbs one by one.

Lieutenant Anderson appears disgusted and RK800 regrets the setback to their partnership.

Then white static overloads his sensors and RK800 is trapped within the confines of his chassis for the next 06:24:05 hours.  
—  
Hank lunges forward when Connor starts seizing and then goes still. “Connor!”

“Rest assured, Lieutenant, androids don’t feel pain. I’m simply testing its wiring.” Dr. Calvaire smiles reassuringly. “Fair warning, I’ll have to put it in low power mode so that I don’t risk electrocution.”

“Will he still be awake?” Hank reaches out hesitantly to fix what’s left of Connor’s hair. The goofy tin can always hated when things were out of alignment. He really hopes that low power is something like anesthesia.

Dr. Calvaire hums thoughtfully as they begin removing shredded skin and gouged muscle, but it’s disinterested. Androids don’t feel pain and that’s good enough for them. They’re already reaching into Connor’s chest and messing with the wiring. “I suppose it might be aware of what’s going on, but this is fairly routine for RK800 and unlikely to cause malfunctions in its programming. The delicate nature of its work means that we’ve placed the safety of humans above the orders to maintain cyber life’s property. We can always make another one if we need to, after all.”

Hank gathers that to mean that yes, Connor knows what’s going on. The sentence ‘CyberLife property’ makes him want to break something.

Then again that urge might come from having another of his boy’s on the operating table. Connor will come out of this one though. Dr. Calvaire designed Connor’s framework. It’s a human working on an Android this time.

Hank really needs a drink.

He can’t leave Connor though. Not if he’s awake. Hank can’t imagine the nightmare of being awake while someone is digging around in his guts. Especially not if that person considered him to be a glorified computer.

If the DPD catches wind of his change of heart, he’s never going to hear the end of it.

For the next six and a half hours, Dr. Calvaire bangs at things with hammers and welds things together and types things into the computer connected to Connor. Every stroke of a keyboard sends Connor’s head and shoulder joints jerking to test the range of various movements.

The entire time Connor’s LED cycles blood red.

Blue splatters across Dr. Calvaire’s once pristine lab coat and the exposed white of Connor’s… bones. Hank doesn’t know what they actually are, but it seems close enough to it. Once the framework is attached, Dr. Calvaire begins stretching synthetic muscles in a patchwork, plugging each one first into the others nearby and then plugging that mass into the semblance of Connor’s spine.

“We designed Connor to work well with humans in general, but if you have a preference we can change his appearance.” Dr. Calvaire holds something that looks suspiciously like Connor in their hands as they wait for Hank’s response.

He searches desperately, trying to remember if Connor ever mentioned wanting something changed. He was always a little buzzed so if he’s honest, he doesn’t really remember all of their interactions well. Clearing his throat, Hank shakes his head. “Nah, I, uh, like the goofy look.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Calvaire holds out the skin like one might hold out a onesie to a child. “RK800, reskin.”

During the pause in work, Connor’s LED had finally faded to yellow but now it burns red as Connor puts on his skin with the same precision he does everything else. Apparently the hair is rooted into the scalp somehow and Hank thinks he might vomit back up the whiskey when Connor carefully slides the scalp around until it’s in position.

Dr. Calvaire hums approval and then presses some sort of clear tape along the seam that seals it so tightly that there’s no evidence of it having existed. “Excellent. RK800, diagnostic report.”

As Connor runs through each repair and reports that they’re operational, Hank finds himself scanning Connor for evidence of deviancy. He might not be a robo prototype, but Hank didn’t become the youngest lieutenant by drinking himself into a stupor—that came later.

All of the deviants have had some sort of emotional trauma. Every last one. Connor himself said that the one showed signs of PTSD. Being disassembled and rebuilt is commonplace for Connor. Dying is commonplace for Connor. If he isn’t a deviant yet, he will be and surprisingly Hank isn’t feeling inclined to turn him in.

Not after seeing how they treat him when he’s ‘functioning optimally’.

Hank watches the engineer run their hands down every inch of Connor with the eye of a craftsman judging their latest piece. It sends shivers down his spine. Connor is a person, he knows it. They can’t treat him like he’s nothing more than a fancy calculator.

“Alright. We gotta get out of here. Is he good to go?” Hank tries to keep his usual gruff tone, but he knows he’s failing by the way Connor’s eyes narrow.

Blue bubbles up from the inner corner of his eye and trickles down his mole dotted cheek.

Hank thinks he might kill something. Before the doctor can do anything, Hank is there holding the corner of his jacket to Connor’s eye like it’s bleeding that can be stopped.

Connor doesn’t push him away, staying still. “It’s quite alright, Lieutenant. Merely a busted valve. I’ve shut it off so you may remove your jacket.”

“Thankfully it dries clear, huh?” Dr. Calvaire chuckles as they start gathering up tools. “RK800 will need a tune up in a few days, but it’s operational and cleared for field work again.”

“Thanks.” Hank growls, but he doesn’t mean it. Not as he watches the way Connor carefully redresses in the clothing he’s given and fastens up the collar of his buttons all the way up. It looks like he’s wearing a collar. The jacket is fastened quickly and appears more restricting, if possible.

For a moment Connor looks like he might be a freshman off to college. Then his LED whirs and he connects to the wireless in his uniform. The blue armband spurts to life, followed by Connor’s model number on the front panel. “Apologies for the delay to the investigation, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t—We’re headed to the station.“ Hank hesitates and then grabs Connor by that stupid armband and starts dragging him back to the car. He’s getting some blue blood and maybe something from the evidence locker for Connor to taste, since he can’t eat. “Fowler’s gonna be passing the paperwork for this off to me, which means you’re gonna do it while I watch the game.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Connor intones. He doesn’t speak again until they’re in the car. His LED is like a strobe light, flashing red and yellow. Then it fades to blue as he turns to look directly at Hank. His voice is soft and lacks the mechanical buzz from earlier. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

And maybe Hank’s finally cracked, but there might be a deviant hiding under all that programming after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from This Is Me Trying by Taylor Swift. I know, I know. But I really do love her new album.


End file.
